


Coffee & Sympathy

by dryandsweet



Category: Holby City
Genre: Berena Secret Santa, Berena Secret Santa 2018, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Pre-Relationship, coffee dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-24 09:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dryandsweet/pseuds/dryandsweet
Summary: Before they become the world to each other, Bernie and Serena are a world unto themselves.





	Coffee & Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morvendigby (hookedphantom)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hookedphantom/gifts).



> Written for Berena Secret Santa 2018 for MorvenDigby/Santahanssen (Billie) who asked for 'coffee dates & lingering hugs.'

* * *

Bernie took Serena up on her offer of a coffee and a chat early on. Bernie wasn’t exactly swimming in offers of friendship and here was Serena going out of her way to make Bernie feel welcome.  She’d have been a fool to lock herself away in misery for its own sake.

Serena suggested meeting up away from the hospital to free them from the awkwardness of prying colleagues.  The walls have ears and they talk.  Bernie didn’t want any more talk if she could avoid it.

Serena bought Bernie coffee at this little place a few blocks away from the hospital. The mugs were large and sat heavy in both hands; coffee filled them to the brim.  Long minutes passed where all they did was drink and people watch. Semi-familiar faces, some from other hospitals, some former patients; lots of university students lumbering through, half-dead and dazed. The typical haunt for anybody subsisting on caffeine and a vague sense of purpose.

“Tell me about you,” prompted Serena. Bernie resisted her natural tendency to redirect.  She wanted to befriend Serena, not frustrate her into indifference.

“What haven’t you heard?” According to Mo Effanga there were all manner of rumor circulating Holby already.  Bernie was a loveless, self-aggrandizing narcissist or a decorated officer tragically cut down in the prime of her military career. The truth was altogether more ordinary than either extreme.

“I want to hear your story from you, not the tittle-tattle from the grapevine.” Serena’s foot nudged Bernie’s under the table, reminding Bernie this was a friendly chat, not an interrogation.  Serena wasn’t her solicitor asking for the intimate details of her infidelity, pricking her with her weaknesses. Her intentions were kinder than that.

“Former army medic out of RAMC, Major. Married for twenty-five years. Two kids I hardly see. Blown up by an IED a couple of months ago. Did a number on my back.”

“Way to bury the lede.” This startled a laugh out of Bernie though there was nothing much to laugh about. She supposed most people would have led with getting blown up.

“It was. It was frightening. I try not to talk about it if I don’t have to.”

“So we won’t talk about it. Tell me about your kids.”  Serena glossed neatly over that conversational hiccup and Bernie followed her. Keep calm, carry on, and so they did.

“Cameron, 26. Charlotte, 21. Cameron’s still trying to figure out his future. Last I heard he was backpacking in Australia.  Charlotte is at university, reading law last I heard. Not sure if that’s changed. We haven’t had a chance to catch each other up on future plans.” The house was tense when Bernie first came back. Once they were certain Bernie would survive, they were all reminded that they scarcely knew each other. Then, the silence crept in.

“Too much uncertainty in the air?”

“You could say that.” Bernie took a noisy sip of coffee. It was good stuff. Far better than anything Pulses had to offer.  Were it closer to work, she might come here more often.  “Tell me about you?”

“Divorced. One difficult daughter, Elinor, and a wonderful if somewhat challenging nephew, Jason. Elinor is studying drama and Jason is a porter here at Holby. You already know what I do.  There’s not much to say about me.” False modesty was a poor color on Serena.

“I don’t believe that.”

“I like red wine and old movies and moonlit walks on the beach, if you know somebody who might be interested in such a thing.”

“I prefer white wine.”

Serena held her heart.  “Oof, hold off a couple of dates before you stab me in the back, why don’t you?”

“Thought I’d be better rip the plaster right off. Wouldn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Too late for that. Somehow, contrary to years of romantic and platonic experience, that wasn’t a deal breaker. I must like you.”

Bernie smiled. Serena smiled. There was a great deal of that going around today.

“I have a suggestion. Let's play Three Truths and a Lie.”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“So I can get to know you better without resorting to shoving bamboo shoots under your fingernails to get you to talk.”  Bernie was anything but the easiest person to get to know where personal lives were concerned. She was willing to give it a shot.  
  
“Okay. Do you want me to go first?”  
  
“Please do.”

Bernie picked three facts out of the air and an obvious lie. This wasn’t one of the games she’d excelled at in her youth.  
  
“I have two children, I was in the army, I had an affair, and I'm afraid of heights.”  
  
“Should I have specified truths I don't already know?” Everybody knew Bernie’s business thanks to her nervous hands mistyping Dom’s email address. Her mistake.  
  
“I’ll work my way up to it.”  
  
“Fine by me. I assume you aren't afraid of heights.”  
  
“I'm not. I tend to be steady at any altitude.”  
  
“Likewise. Though if you ask me to climb a mountain there'd better be an above average vino waiting at the summit to make it worth my while.”  
  
“Duly noted.”  She waited for Serena take her turn.  
  
"Three truths and a lie. Hmm." Serena tapped her jaw till a smile stole across her lips. She'd thought of something.  "My older sister was adopted out before I was born, I wanted to be a professional dancer growing up, my father was an accountant, and I always wanted more children but never found the time.”  There was enough gossip fodder about Serena to fill a dossier. Bernie had heard some things but stopped listening fairly quickly when someone began to fill her in on Serena’s late mother.  Some topics were too personal to hear from a stranger.  
  
“Let's see. Those all sound likely enough. You have an MBA, could be your father inspired you.”  
  
“Could be.”  
  
“Any chance of a hint?”  
  
“None at all. Working it out is part of the fun.”  
  
“Could be your dad was an accountant so I'll say 'true' on that.  I always wanted more children in theory but in reality I wanted to advance my career more. I scarcely made time for Cameron and Charlotte before dashing back to theater. I am going to say 'true' again. You mentioned your nephew Jason. Could be he was your sister's child. Or he could be from a different sibling, not necessarily one who was adopted. We'll leave that one for the time being. You wanted to be a professional dancer. That one’s out of left field. You're graceful in the theater.”  
  
"I'll take that."  
  
“But you don't move like a dancer.” Bernie had occasion to meet many dancers in her travels and there was a difference, not matter what style they were trained in, in how a dancer moved, whether they were dancing or not.  Serena had her own flowing manner, but it wasn’t that of a dancer.  
  
“Were I a tiny bit less confident, I'd be offended.”

Bernie tapped a finger on the back of Serena’s hand.  "You have every reason to be confident, dancer or not.  You have attributes most dancers would kill for.”  
  
“Are you flirting with me?”  
  
“Will that get me out the dog house?”  
  
Serena laughed, and Bernie dipped into her coffee to hide how Serena’s throaty laughter sent a ripple through her.  “I think it just might,” she said.  
  
“Then I'll keep going.” Bernie had a way with people she hadn’t noticed till she took up with Alex this past year. Men responded to it, but women, some women went molten for it. She wasn’t ready to examine how much she wanted Serena to be one of them.  “Was I right?”  
  
“You were bang on the nose. My father was an accountant and he inspired me to attend Harvard for my MBA. Jason is my half-sister Marjorie's son. We never met.  I wanted more children but I did _not_ want them with my ex-husband. Our marriage was unstable right out the gate and I don't believe in having multiple children to hold bad relationships together. I never found anybody else worth having a family with. Elinor is enough.”  
  
“No aspirations to professional dance?”  
  
“I did take ballet classes as a little girl but I was a touch too clumsy and my proportions were never ideal, as I heard often. I was fine because I tried but I wasn't anything special and I quit as soon as I was allowed. I was, however, something of a marvel on a stripper pole back in uni to hear my friend Sîan tell it. Serena Ballerina, she called me.”  
  
“Ding dong, I'd pay for that show.” Serena short-circuited Bernie’s instinctive mortification response with a conspiratorial whisper.  
  
“Catch me at Albie's after a couple of bottles and you'll see more than that.”  Serena lightly nudged her ankle. “Your go again.”  
  
“I dance a mean waltz, I can operate an armored tank, I speak German conversantly, and I don't regret my upcoming divorce.”

Serena eyed Bernie up, no doubt seeking justification of one possibility over the other. Bernie prided, and derided, herself on being unreadable.

“Here’s what I think: I buy the tank as a fact. I can just picture you forging across a battlefield in one.”  
  
“Dare I ask what you think I got up to out there?”  
  
“Lots of heroism, I expect. Dirt on your face, windswept hair, rippling muscles. Staring stoically toward the horizon. Am I getting warm?”  
  
“It wasn't anything that romantic, or remotely that sexy.”  
  
“I know. But, you're built to be a romantic hero. It's the cheekbones.”  
  
Bernie snorted. “Bite your tongue.”  
  
“I’m not the only one thinking it. You should hear how the juniors sigh over you.”  
  
“My CV maybe.”  
  
“That isn't all. I admit I keep expecting to see ‘I heart Major Wolfe’ scribbled on the walls of the ladies.”  
  
“Go on.”  
  
“I'll never tell.” Serena smirked.  “Operate a tank, yes. Dance a mean waltz? You have a sort of grace about you, don’t you?”  
  
“Do I?”  Serena looked her over once more, taking her time to inspect Bernie’s hands and arms, lingering at the set of her shoulders and the column of her throat. Bernie softly cleared her throat and Serena’s eyes jerked back to her face.  
  
“I’m going to say yes to the waltz. And it’s obvious to me that divorce is the right decision for you. I hope you don't regret it." It was she that reached out this time, a light touch of solidarity that had Bernie reaching back.  Their hands linked fast, fingers almost knotting in their eagerness to take mutual hold.  Yes, Bernie had made the mistakes, but it was still her family in flames.

“I regret the pain, not the decision.”

“Good enough. As for German…”  Serena thumbed Bernie’s wrist.  “You can't speak a word of German, can you?”  
  
“Nein.” Bernie dodged Serena's ensuing swat.  “No need to get physical, Ms. Campbell. We haven't even had dinner yet.”

“Just for that—“ Serena balled up a paper napkin and threw it at Bernie’s head.  
  
“Manners!”  Bernie tossed a second balled up paper projectile back at her.  
  
“Act your age!”  
  
“No, you!”  
  
“We're the same age.”

There was a better than good chance they were never permitted back at that café, so it was good luck it was out of Bernie’s way.

Serena was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes on the pavement outside the coffee house they’d just been politely ejected from.

“I don’t think I’ve had that much fun on a coffee date in—actually, ever. That was one for the books.”

“You like your dates to end in permanent bans from public establishments?”

“It wasn’t permanent; they said we could come back in a month if we could behave ourselves.”

“We are never coming here again.” Bernie didn’t think her stoicism could withstand the judgmental stares. Knowing Serena they’d find themselves in twice the mischief next time around. She’d probably enjoy it, damn her penchant for troublesome brunettes with beautiful eyes.

The first Serena Campbell hug Bernie ever experienced took her by surprise.

Serena’s arms came around her and Bernie froze.  Serena was shorter than her by a couple of inches, though her trainers largely compensated for the disparity. She was so very different from Bernie physically that it took her arms just that little bit longer to remember what they were meant to do. She returned Serena’s hold as she was starting to let go, and they were stuck in this awkward tangle of limbs that was no less embarrassing than Bernie’s initial lapse. It was just—people didn’t touch Bernie. Could be a symptom of her rank or her natural reserve; whatever the reason, others were loath to cross Bernie’s unspoken boundaries and Serena had charged right through, not unlike a bull in a china shop, though nothing was broken.  Everything was fine. Better, even.

“Not much for hugs?” Serena asked once they’d sorted out whose limbs was whose and teased their bodies apart.

“Not many people are in the market for a full-on embrace in the army, no.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind. It’s nice. I can’t remember the last time somebody was happy to see me.”

“More fool them. You’re amazing.” Bernie scuffed the ground with her boot, wanted so very much to hide behind her fringe but felt that would be telling.

“Was that coffee Irish, by any chance?”

“Hardy har har. No, I’m demonstrative to my friends. Hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Not at all.” Bernie pursed her lips. “Could we, could we try again?”

“We can.”

When Serena went for the hug, it was met with Bernie’s full-bodied approval. Serena’s sigh of contentment unleashed a flurry of emotion in Bernie’s heart.  Somebody wanted her here, somebody was happy to see her.

When Serena didn’t protest, Bernie hung on a little tighter for just a little longer. It was nice to hold someone and be held in return.

 

* * *

 

Serena greeted Bernie at the entrance to Pulses with an excitable grin that would have been the equivalent of an intravenous caffeine drip were Bernie slightly more rested. They’d gone on multiple coffee outings at various spots around Holby outside of work hours and it had cemented them as firm friends.  Bernie hadn’t made a friend like Serena before.

Serena guided her into the wending line of customers, holding onto her arm eager as a child at Christmas.

“I’ve decided we’re going to be adventurous this time.”

“Are we?”

“No more Americanos.”

“But I like my coffee black as my mood.”

“So do I, only my daughter was telling me just today how boring that is. You and I are at the top of our field, we are _not_ boring.  We’re branching out. How does caramel macchiato strike you?”

Bernie screwed up her face.  “Sounds sweet.”

“We’re trying it.”

Bernie groaned and shuffled nearer to the counter as the queue ahead of them shrunk.

“Oh god, Serena, why?”  Karma had come for Bernie Wolfe, surely.

“We’re going to carpe that diem, Bernie.”

“Can’t we carpe our usual and save the exotic alternatives for a day when I’ve slept more than two hours?”

“What were you doing that kept you awake?”

“Assembling my new dresser.”

“You should have called me. I’ve spent years putting together my own furniture. I have a tool kit.” The idea of Serena wielding home improvement tools was intriguing and Bernie wasn’t lucid enough to contemplate the reasons why.

“The instructions were in Mandarin.”

“Did they send you the wrong set?”

“I really don’t know.” She yawned into the crook of her arm. “Anyway, I got the thing together in the end, threw myself in bed and got a whole two hours of sleep before my alarm sounded this morning.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Serena rubbed her arm and pulled her to the counter to put in their order.  “In that case, black coffee for you, because I know the army runs on the stuff. I’ll have a mocha frappuccino.”

The barista was quick today and produced their drinks order in about ten minutes. Bernie spent the wait daydreaming about getting back into bed.  Serena’s previously jolly spirits were already beginning to flag.  By the time they were handed their respective cups, she was thoroughly disheartened. They took their first sips after knocking their cups together in a companionable ‘heads up.’

“How is it?” Bernie asked once the world began to regain its color.

“Sweet.” Serena winced. She’d mentioned her preference for dark chocolate over milk or white once before.  “Loving the bite of chocolate though.”

Bernie raised her cup in a mock salute. “Better you than me.  You can share my coffee when you’re falling asleep half an hour from now.”

“Generous of you.”

They hauled arse to AAU with the speed of clinical leads, in other words, as quick as they bloody well felt like it, which is to say not at all quickly by either of their standards. They arrived on the ward to stow their belongings in the locker room and check on the state of things with Morven and the other F1s under her tutelage. They did a few superficial obs, ordered some tests, bloods, and diagnostics and gathered their paperwork for a meeting with Hanssen, the Board, and the other senior consultants.

Bernie grabbed her lukewarm coffee as she left the office. Serena’s frappuccino was nowhere to be seen. They squeezed into the back of the crowded lift for the ride upstairs. Bernie took the furthest corner from the door while Serena propped herself up against the rear wall to make room for a porter and a nurse wheeling in a couple of non-ambulatory patients.

“Do you want a sip? Your eyelids are drooping.”

Following a voracious yawn, Serena took a hearty gulp of Bernie’s coffee.  “Remind me never to listen to my daughter again. She gives terrible advice.” That would not be the last Serena said that in their years together; in the end, Bernie will wish she got to say it more.

They departed their meeting upstairs hours later much diminished for having sat in a darkened conference room listening to a board member entirely lacking in charisma drone on about profit margins into the early afternoon.  Bernie could be wrong but she’s almost positive Serena mentioned dating him once.

Serena stared at the down button for the lift for roughly thirty seconds before remembering she needed to push it first.  “Was that the most boring meeting we have ever attended or am I just exhausted?”  
  
“It's up there. Coffee?”  
  
“An emergency shot of espresso is in order unless I want to be snoring into Mr. Donorat's abdominal cavity at 3:30.”  
  
“I’m slightly more lucid, want me to take him?” Bernie could subsist on a single cup of coffee for twice the amount of time of the average person. Necessity and all that.  
  
“And I'll review your half of the admin?” She sounded hopeful.  
  
“I wasn't going to suggest that but if you're offering.”  Bernie hated the usual NHS administrative drudgery something terrible. She’d take most any out she could get to avoid it.  
  
“Consider it done."  
  
Serena ambushed her with a brisk hug. Bernie hadn't known hugs could be brisk. Serena rubbed her back and bussed her cheek, then dashed for the elevator with a backwards wave, no doubt off to  wade into their chest-high backlog like the expert swimmer she was.  Bernie smiled at her retreating figure and made for the stairs, whistling softly as she began her descent. They were workplace hugging friends now.

* * *

 

Bernie came back to their shared office after Mr. Donorat’s surgery ran into the early evening. There had been complications, including a couple of free bleeds that had necessitated a transfusion and a fresh set of scrubs for Bernie.  If he survived the night, he’d live to see seventy, in Bernie’s opinion.

On Bernie’s desk, there was a steaming cup of coffee in a cardboard cup holder that read Ziggurat’s Coffee & Patisserie.  They’d been banned from there months ago and all of Serena’s wheedling hadn’t convinced Bernie to go accompany her there again. The smell of dark hazelnut roast greeted Bernie. There it was again, that feeling of being cared for, wanted and appreciated.

“You didn't need to bring me back coffee.”

“You saved my bacon on that surgery, it's the least I could do.”

Bernie didn’t tell her that friends did that for each other. That was a given. Serena didn’t need to be told what friends should do; she needed to see it. So Bernie would do it and Serena would see the kind of friend she had in Bernie.  
  
“Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it.” Serena tapped her fingers on the edge of her keyboard. “Dinner tonight?”

“Kebab?”  
  
“You read my mind.”  
  
After their shift, they repaired to a wonderful Turkish eatery they’d found on their meanderings through town and split a set of beyti kebab while treating themselves to a pot of fortifying Turkish coffee.   Noting how Serena was eyeing the last skewer on the platter, Bernie signaled the server to their table to expand their order. It would take a stronger woman than her to deny that face anything.  
  
"Take two?"  
  
They pored over the menu, likely butchering the pronunciation of every dish but giving it the old college try before settling on çöp şiş for Bernie and patlıcanlı kebap for Serena. Sharing food was out of the question; they both enjoyed eating their fill too much to share.  Marcus used to give Bernie grief if she ate too much at once. For all that he claimed it was for her own good, Bernie often questioned whether he wasn't worried she wouldn't look the way he preferred if she gained a few pounds. Serena didn't care. She made the right noises about diet and exercise but Bernie had yet to meet a woman more content in her body, or who had more of a right to be.   
  
“Back to our game,” Serena announced unprompted between bites of pide bread dipped in yogurt sauce.  
  
“We have a game?” Bernie asked around a mouthful of garlic and tomato dripping with oil, tasting of black pepper and thyme. It was so good she didn’t actually want to stop eating to speak. Serena raised a finger, finishing a segment of eggplant off in its entirety.  
  
“Three Truths...”  
  
“...and A Lie.” She snapped her fingers. “Okay, let's go.” Bernie liked getting to know Serena this way. It was low-pressure and Serena made it even more so. She wanted to know Bernie as a person, not Bernie as some larger than life heroic figure. Bernie wanted to know everything there was to know about Serena and more.  “You first.”  
  
Serena counted off her on her fingers: “I played hockey as a girl, I once dyed my hair an unfortunate shade of dishwater blonde, I tried yoga—twice, and I have always dreamed of summering in the south of France.”

Bernie sat back to let herself digest some of the food she’d just eaten. She had every intention of going back to it. “I don't think you'd like yoga very much.”  
  
“Ah ah ah, I can be flexible.” In theater, yes; in life, Bernie had observed that Serena had difficulty with sudden, unexpected change.  She and Jason very much had that in common.  Nevertheless, both were adapting swiftly now that Bernie’d come around.  
  
“I know you can bend when needed, I've seen you in theater.”

Serena batted her eyelashes.  “Flirt.”  
  
“Likewise.” Flirting with Serena had become Bernie’s latest cardio fad. Nothing got her heart rate up like seeing Serena shine with mischief.  _Back on task, Wolfe._ “You'd love wine country.”  
  
“We'll have to go together someday.  I can ply you with the best varietals of Shiraz until you come to your senses.”  
  
“Not if I get you to enjoy Malbec first.”  
  
Serena unleashed a mighty scowl.  “Never gonna happen.”

“We'll see.” Bernie had Serena beat for bullheadedness any day. “Hockey?”  
  
“Never underestimate school mandated physical activity.” Serena’s scowl was more annoyance than disgust this time.  “What are you staring at?”  
  
“Trying to imagine you shouldering a bunch of year eight girls out of the way to launch the ball into the net.”  
  
“I could have done it,” she defended.  Serena balked at the implication that she wasn’t as capable as anyone.  Bernie would have done the same, had done the same on other subjects.  
  
“I bet you could. But you didn't.”

Serena cradled her cup of coffee and narrowed her eyes as if to intimidate Bernie into flinching.  It would have been more effective were it not for the drop of coffee on the corner of her mouth that Bernie couldn’t stop staring at. She wanted to ~~kiss~~ rub it off.  
  
“Your final answer?” Serena asked her. Bernie contemplated what remained of her food and threw a hand up to request a take-home box.  Her stomach was doing somersaults; she was in no fit state to eat more.  
  
“My final answer.”

Serena flopped back her chair with an air of disgruntlement not unlike the Elinor she’d heard countless tales about.  "You're annoyingly good at this game."  
  
“You have a tell.”  
  
“What?” Serena followed Bernie's line of sight to her necklace and the double charm she was dragging along its chain. “I've been doing that all my life. Don't even notice it most of the time.”  
  
“You do it when you're nervous or when you fib.”

Serena chuckled.  “I'll keep that in mind if we ever play poker.”

Bernie could see Serena on Keller with herself and the others having hospital-approved drinks at the end of shift and dealing cards in the break room.  Something told her this woman talked a much better game than she played.  
  
“I'd wipe the floor with you.”

Serena’s eyebrows inched toward her hairline. She sensed fresh meat. Bernie sensed a trap and like a lemming she dove right in. Serena propped her chin on her hands.  “Can't wait to spend your hard earned money on coffee next time.”  
  
“Was that a challenge?”  Bernie liked to win, but more than she liked to win, she liked Serena. She’d take her up on a game of Twister if Serena decided it was a worthwhile way to spend an afternoon.  
  
“Name the time and place, Ms. Wolfe.”  
  
“My place, next Tuesday after work. I’ll provide the booze.”  
  
“I'll bring the takeaway.”

“It's a date.” Bernie finally heeded the internal alarm shrieking that she was coming dangerously close to asking out her newest friend and changed the subject.  “So dishwater blonde?”  
  
Serena deflated. “I hoped you'd forgot about that.”  
  
“Memory like bank vault, me.  Was it a dare? Is there photographic evidence?”  
  
“Never you mind that.”  
  
"Should I ask Jason?”  
  
Serena almost spit out her coffee. “No! And you are never allowed to meet Sîan Kors.”  
  
“I am going to ask every one of our colleagues until I get her number, and I am going to start with Ric.” Ric enjoyed getting Serena’s goat slightly more than Bernie did and he didn’t care one way or another about taking sides. If nothing else, he could tell Bernie where to search next.

“Bloody Ric Griffin.” Serena gave Bernie all the best bits of Ric’s history to make up for his inevitable betrayal. Bernie forgot all except the choice tidits. Rocky Griffin had met his match in the two of them.

Serena and Bernie said their goodbyes at street parking. Bernie had a meet-up with the kids in an hour or so if they decided to show. Part of her wanted to ask Serena to tag along for moral support, but she knew this was the time for her to be brave again. That was the version of Bernie her children needed to see. Serena knew all about the upcoming meeting and had done all she could to keep Bernie’s mind off it. She’d done well.  That was her gift, aside from being an excellent surgeon and a relentless shill for the Shiraz makers of Europe, she was a daunting distraction.

Serena bumped Bernie’s shoulder.  "Not a bad meal, and I can't fault the company."

"I'll take that for a review."

“You can take that to bank.”

Serena took one of Bernie’s hands. They were cold as the year grew cooler with a change of season.  Serena never took any notice, seemed as eager to touch Bernie when she was warm as when she was icy.  “Thanks for today.”  
  
“Just doing what comes naturally.”

“Saving my sorry backside?”  
  
“Looking out for one of my own." Bernie slunk forward to put drape her arms around Serena.  She even dared a kiss upon the rosy apple of Serena's cheek. “You're welcome in my foxhole any day.”  
  
“I bet you tell that to all the pretty consultants.”

“Just you.” Serena buried her face in the folds of Bernie’s coat and laughed.  It was only a second and Bernie heart rate still climbed.  Serena pulled back and brushed strands of hair from Bernie’s coat.

“You’d better get a move on before I try to take you home with me.”

Bernie clicked her tongue.  “You won't hear me complaining.”

“Be good, Ms. Wolfe,” said Serena, going stern though not nearly as convincing as she seemed to believe.

Beautiful. Beguiling. Utterly unattainable. Just Bernie’s type.  
  
“Where would be the fun in that?”  Serena held Berne’s door for her as she got into her car. They clasped hands through her open car window.  “Goodnight, Serena.”  
  
“Goodnight.”

Bernie waited to see Serena safely back in her car and they drove their separate ways. As always.

* * *

  
Serena held the lift doors long enough for Bernie to squeeze through. Yes, she was running behind. She had slept in.

“Good morning, birthday girl.”

Bernie cocked her head.  “How’d you know today’s my birthday?”

"I'm clinical co-lead of our ward, not to mention former deputy CEO. All the personnel files used to cross my desk, including yours.”  
  
“You remember my birthday?” She was lucky if her children remembered. Sometimes Alex had. Bernie had stopped celebrating in her thirties; there’d been more pressing concerns, career, marriage, kids. It ceased to be an event to anybody else and so Bernie had let it go.

“I remember the birthdays of all my friends.” Serena dug around in her seemingly bottomless coat pockets and produced  a large novelty size Crunchie bar, an oversize travel mug that smelled of Bernie’s favorite decadent coffee beverage (one of Serena’s ideas for an Americano alternative had stuck) and a paper packet that was giving off an aroma so sweet Bernie’s mouth began to water on the spot. Bernie hardly knew what to say.

“You got me cheese Danish.”  
  
“You're always eyeing it up on the dessert case and talking yourself out of it. Eat up, you're beautiful, Bernie, and you're as young as you feel.”  
  
“I feel about 22 right now.”  
  
“You look it.”  
  
“That settles it, it's time for a visit to the optician. I’ll drive.”  
  
“I’ll go if you go.”  
  
"So you can steal my glasses like you steal my hoodie?"  
  
Serena turned beet red.  “I did that once because a patient sicked up on my blouse and I didn't have a spare. I washed it and returned it the very next shift.”  Bernie had smelt of Serena's laundry detergent for three days, light and floral and soft.  Time and again, she would catch a whiff of herself and whip around, mistakenly thinking Serena was nearby. Serena's scent was a comely ghost she wanted to be haunted by, that she mourned not a little when it faded to nothing.   
  
“So you did. That wasn't a 'no', by the way.”  
  
“You _would_ let me borrow your glasses, wouldn't you?” Without hesitation. Bernie had proven herself a soft touch for this woman from the first handshake.  
  
“You'd only steal them if I didn’t.”  
  
“I wouldn't _steal_ them, I would borrow them while you weren't looking.”  
  
“As I suspected.  You're not to be trusted. And no pouting, you've only got yourself to blame.”

Serena’s lower lip poked out in defiance.  “I've got a department head meeting to haggle over budget acquisition for _your_ trauma bay. When my birthday rolls around in a few months’ time, I want you to remember I took this bullet for both of us."  She pulled Bernie into her arms. Unlike her usual brisk, crushing hug, this was a steaming bath of an embrace, soothing and deep. She held Bernie as tight as their respective possessions allowed and rubbed Bernie's back, stroking a line of bracing heat down her spine. She then kissed Bernie's cheek twice in quick succession. “Happy birthday, darling.”  
  
Bernie didn’t get out more than a stammered word of thanks before Serena pushed her out the lift onto AAU and headed upstairs for her budget conference.  
  
Bernie and Serena had leveled up to a shared ward, unsolicited gestures of kindness, hugs, and terms of endearment. Bernie greeted the ward staff feeling lighter than she had in months. Her feet scarcely touched the ground. 

* * *

 

Months and years and births and deaths hence, Bernie stretched sloth-slow on her side of the bed.  “Coffee?” she offered, voice hoarse and croaky from deep, restful slumber.  
  
Serena reached out of her goose down hibernation cave to reclaim Bernie's sleep heavy body for a pre-dawn snuggle. “Five more minutes?”  
  
Bernie rolled over to nuzzle under Serena's chin, going limpet and creeping vine stuck with her under the covers.  She wasn't going to turn down a lovely cuddle in this winter weather, nor with this lovely woman. The children and grandchildren and extended relations would be arriving soon and they’d expect food. “Five more minutes.”  
  
They made it downstairs in fifty. Close enough.

**Author's Note:**

> First posted [here](https://dryandsweet.tumblr.com/post/181380549590/coffee-sympathy-berena)


End file.
